


Tip of His Tongue

by ava_jamison



Series: Steadfast [5]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types, Superman/Batman (Comics), World's Finest (Comics)
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 07:04:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12551844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ava_jamison/pseuds/ava_jamison
Summary: Some fic I wrote for a challenge a while back but never posted on A03.Thanks for all the feedback, BatS :) This goes out to you.





	Tip of His Tongue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BatShitCrazy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BatShitCrazy/gifts).



> Some fic I wrote for a challenge a while back but never posted on A03.  
> Thanks for all the feedback, BatS :) This goes out to you.

When Bruce’s eyes cross and he collapses, a mass of hard muscle, taped ribs and sweat-drenched skin, he’s as blown as Clark’s ever seen him, trembling in a way that would be imperceptible to anybody but Clark. 

Bruce’s hair sticks out at odd, crazy angles that beg to be tugged and finger-combed into place and when Clark does just that, his eyes open—wide and glassy and… pleased.

It’s disconcerting, really, to see him like this—this man, brought down by… well. Disconcerting to see him so ridiculously vulnerable, spent, his breath uneven and ragged and his face, though he isn’t smiling, full of… something. It’s a look he only gets now, like this, right after they’ve…

Clark knows it’s not very… noble of himself to want this so much, to so viscerally enjoy bringing this man—this man who never lets go and upon whom so many depend—make this man lose his iron self control, but it’s… it feels so good, so gratifying to make Bruce surrender, make him forget himself.

Bruce doesn’t say much, never does, never will. Clark would be a fool to want what the man can’t—won’t—can’t give. But to force the sounds from Bruce? From Batman? To compel this particular man to give it up? Every groan is a triumph, every hitch of breath a victory—something Clark gets to keep and remember. To make him, this man who’s trained his body into a machine—to make him buck and gasp, helpless and shaking…

He knows Bruce—not that Bruce tells him, but Clark’s not as clueless as people sometimes think—knows Bruce gets off on bringing the ‘Man of Steel’… off. To make Superman curse if he can, or thrust with abandon or sink to his knees. 

But Bruce—to make Bruce want and yearn, make him needy and greedy for something personal, beyond the mission—just for himself, is when Clark really feels like the most powerful man on the planet. To be the one to give it to him, even if Bruce won’t—doesn’t—won’t let go. Until Clark goads, takes, pushes. Pushes the man who always pushes everyone else.

These aren’t new thoughts to Clark, but he’s been thinking about them long enough now that Bruce has started to focus again, that his breath is returning to normal. That he’s looking at Clark with the slightest crinkle to the corner of his eyes. 

“I had,” Bruce says, blinking. “I had no idea.”

“Yeah, I… well—” Clark stammers.

Bruce’s hand comes up to glance against Clark’s cheek, and that’s how he knows he must be blushing, at least a little. 

“Your abilities never cease to amaze me.”

Clark turns into Bruce’s hand, feels the heat rising in his face. High praise indeed. Bruce really is feeling the afterglow.

“I really didn’t know,” Bruce says, like he’s far away, then comes back to Clark. Adds, “Kal-El.”

Clark watches Bruce’s expression and sees the man try to make what just happened different, less about them and more about… mechanics. About alien physiology or some other load of—he doesn’t know yet exactly what. But Clark knows the drill and the look in Bruce’s eyes, the distancing mechanism that tries to make this something other than about them, the two of them and what they do together. What they have together. He frowns.

Bruce tilts his head, still distant. “Your tongue, Kal. I didn’t know—human tongues can’t do that.”

Clark grins, brings it back, makes it personal again. Now he knows what he’s up against, and it’s an easy one, too. He raises his eyebrow, biting back his smile. Pushes a wayward lock of dark hair from Bruce's forehead. “How much testing—should I be jealous, Bruce? How many people have you ever even let do that to you anyway?” 

And then it's Bruce's turn to stammer.


End file.
